Time. Is just a useless word, means nothing more than that. Nothing less.
Love. Is something everyone has but never finds, because no one knows what love is.
Death. Is God’s way of keeping people apart. It’s God’s way of torturing someone from the inside of their warm beating hearts to the heat leaving their weak, scarred skin.
If there is a God. People have yet to prove that theory, that there is truly a man or women up there beyond our eyes that is so cruel yet so brave to fight the everyday wars of the place we call home.
But where is home? Is it a concrete building filled with objects we don’t need but want?
Is it your favorite place to go as a child? Where the memories fill you up and bring a smile to your face or a few lousy tears to your eyes?
No, home isn’t where; it’s who.
It’s whom you choose; it’s who you love more than anything; even more then your whole life.
The only problem with that is, it’s not called love anymore. It’s called suicide.
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 Freya-Anne · Mon Nov 03, 2008 @ 11:53pm · 9 Comments |
